It struggles on to win the dust of time,
To strew it o’er the amaranthine leaves
Of an immortal coronal; its fame
Flashes, a meteor through the changing sky
Of popular opinion, ever urged
“Onward—still onward”—by the iron hand
Of strong, resistless Destiny. The storm,
The rocking earthquake, and devouring fire,
Have done their work upon the heart and soul;
Have torn away the sweetest bloom of life